chronicles of a tired sadblob.

She stands right in front of me, sitting on the couch, her legs slightly spread, fists resting on her hips, with a deep frown. She always does that, this pose. Makes herself seem big and intimidating. And it works on me, I admit that, it does work. Because I’m a wimp and easily intimidated. I don't like fighting and hate it when people get angry. So I try to defuse the situation and do the only thing I’m familiar with: I cower. I coo. I make myself small and put on my softest voice. She always takes advantage of that, too, it's always the same. But I try, I still try anyway. It's all I can do.

"Please, honey. We can talk about this. Let's talk first. Sit down."

"There's nothing to talk about."

I shift around nervously. She's always like this, and it drives me up the wall. I'm used to her refusing to talk to me and making decisions on her own without consulting with me, and I've learned to accept that and let her have her way when it comes to small, everyday matters, even if it means swallowing my pride more often than not. That's simply how she is – stubborn, obstinate, intractable. But not like this. Not in this case. Just this once, I deserve to have a say, too.

"If there's a problem, you can always talk to me. I thought you know that."

"I've made my decision. And it's final. I'm simply informing you."

It's a one-sided decision, yet again. She has enough, she says, and what? She can simply decide to throw away not only her own life but mine too because of that? Everything we worked for together? Everything we built together? Just like that? Just because she has enough? That's not fair!

And why now? We're putting two kids through college. What about them? Couldn't she at least wait until they both graduated? It's so selfish of her. So typical. Inconsiderate, as usual. Reckless. She gets her will and others have to deal with the consequences.

"Just tell me what to do. We can work something out. Please."

"There's nothing you can do," she says, surprisingly softly. "This isn't the life I wanted. I can't go on like this."

The life she wanted? This woman does whatever she wants all the time! I don't keep her chained at home. In fact, I mostly stay out of her way. She has friends, hobbies, her church group. In what way would leaving me change any of that? Or improve her life? She already has all the freedom she could want!

"And what kind of life would that be?"

She stares at me and furrows her brows, but says nothing. The implication that hangs in the room, unspoken, is 'one without you'.

I can't believe this. We've been together for twenty-seven years. It can't end like this!

"You have no reason to divorce me!" 'No right' is what I really wanted to say.

"This conversation is over."

"This conversation is over when I say it," I bark, and Jess flinches.

My voice came out louder than intended. It surprised me too. I don't usually raise my voice, quite the opposite. It's Jess who starts yelling when she's angry, at the slightest provocation, and I'm expected to take it, or else she only gets louder. What's even more surprising is her reaction. I made her flinch. That felt good. It's a crack in the surface. A sign of weakness. Something I don't get to see otherwise. It made something inside me stir. A hardness and resolve in the pit of my stomach, forming a lump that quivers and convulses, compressed under immense pressure. Something that seeks to break free. Something that's about to burst and explode.

Divorce? No. No, I won't allow it.

I jump to my feet and Jess actually has to take a step back because I'm suddenly very close, too close, right in her face. I give her a push and she stumbles backward, flails her arms to keep her balance.

She stares at me, wide-eyed. Frozen in shock, like a deer in the headlights. I've never seen her like this before. I raise my finger, point it at her.

"You can't just leave me," I say with a calm but firm voice.

Hearing that, Jess snaps out of it, returns to her usual self. Her face darkens.

"Yes, I can, and I will."

"You won't!" I shout.

A moment of silence hangs between us.

Jess bursts out laughing.

The tension inside me reaches its physical limit, and it suddenly unloads in a burst of energy when I close the gap and rush towards Jess. I shove her into the chairs and the dining table with all my strength. She falls, crying out, lands on her side. I grab her arm and pull her upper body off the floor.

"You won't!" I shout again. "You won't!"

She tries to get up and I let her, help her even. Back on her feet, she shoves me away and before I can think, my right arm pulls back, seemingly by itself, and my fist lands in her face. Just like that. It all happens so fast. Jess topples down, lands on her knees. She holds her cheek with one hand, gasping, unable to make a sound.

I'm not a violent person. I've never hit my wife before, not even once. I'm in a daze, everything around me blurring, disappearing. The rush of blood makes my ears ring. I feel lightheaded. Seeing her like this is shocking. Bent over and certainly in pain. It feels empowering. It's so invigorating. My body is flooded with a cold, prickling sensation, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I can feel every fiber in the muscles of my arms, can feel them contracting, tensing up. I beat the back of her head with my fist.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" I scream.

I beat her again. Jess puts her arms around her head, but I keep punching, hammering her with the bottom of my fist. She lowers her head to the ground and makes herself as small as possible, hiding under what little protection her arms offer. I take a step back and look down at her, at the pathetic bundle of a person in front of me. She's breathing hard. I can see her arched back rising and falling. So far, she hasn't made a sound.

I have never felt bigger and stronger in my life. I have never felt more in control of myself.

Jess pushes herself off the ground, leaning on one arm and holding her head with the other hand. She raises her upper body fully, sitting on her knees, panting, and shoots me a glare. I tower over her and clench my fists. Despite that, she starts to get up.

I used to do anything to maintain the peace in our marriage. But that's unmistakably over and in the past. Kept up appearances. Acted the good little husband for her. But no more. No longer. I've had it, too. Enough of this farce. Enough.

I push her over as she tries to get back on her feet, push her to the ground. It's really so easy. I have no issue manhandling her. Who would have thought? And it's so freeing. It feels so right. So very right. And so I hold her down and get on top of her and punch her in the fucking face with my fist and then I do it again. Jess puts her hands up in defense.

"I was so good to you," I yell at her between punches. "I did anything you asked. Cared for you. Tried to make you happy. I listened to you. Cleaned the dishes. Put away the laundry. What the hell else do you want? I gave you everything! You stupid bitch!"

I grab her jaw, lean in close. Pause before I continue, to gather myself and calm down for a moment, to weigh my next words. I look her in the eyes. Her fear is tangible. It's riveting. Delectable.

"And you, you just want to throw all that away? And for what? For what end? Do you think you will be happier without me? That I hold you back somehow? As if you didn't already do whatever the fuck you wanted, no matter what I say." I let out a sharp sigh and hold her gaze. "So what, what's the point? Didn't you have it good enough with me? Do you think you could do better than this? Do you really think there's someone better out there, just waiting for you? For you?"

I don't wait for an answer. Instead, I strike her in the face.

"You ungrateful piece of shit. You're nothing without me. Nothing!"

I grab her face, force her to look at me. She twists, wants to pull away, but I don't let her. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to shake her head.

"What did you think would happen? What the fuck did you think?! That I say yes and that's it? Just cower again, take the beating? Take it like a little bitch? Like the little bitch you thought I was?"

The anger inside me is boiling. It's a real, physical sensation. I can feel it surge and wash over me. It's sharp, bright, and burning hot, seething under my skin and searing as it courses through my veins, numbing all other sensations. A frenzied feeling; something that's straining to get out, seeking to escape. I unload a flurry of punches on her face with both of my fists. Jess raises her hands in defense, desperately tries to hold me back.

Something broke in me. Those magic words she uttered took off the self-imposed chains. Really, I was deluding myself. I fucking hate that bitch. It feels good to finally admit it. Hate, how that word rolls off the tongue. Hate. Excellent mouthfeel. Harsh, pointed. Hate, hate, hate. Fuck.

I let the hate flow freely now. Channel it into my fists. Materialize it. Beat her and beat her. Jess is still holding her hands up, though the beating must be getting to her. She hardly resists, barely makes a sound. Even when the hits smack her face, there's little reaction coming from her at this point. Her head just bops left and right under the force of my punches, that's all.

There is blood running down from her nostrils and over her cheek. Her lip is busted, her left eye has started to swell. There's blood on my knuckles, too, but I can't tell whose it is. The way I'm beating her, my fists should be hurting by now, but I don't feel any pain.

I stop the beating and take a deep breath. Good. This is good. It feels right. She deserves it. I deserve it. I really needed this. And I'm not done with her yet. No. I decide that I want more.

Jess is groaning and seems disoriented, still trying to stop my punches, even though none are coming. I get off her and start working on her pants. I open the button and zipper, pull them down along with the panties. She just lets me, too out of it to offer any resistance.

"Stop, please stop..." she whimpers and I'm surprised she's still able to speak, but I don't listen anyway.

Her hands are aimlessly waving about, looking for an opponent that isn't there. I follow suit and take my own pants off, position myself between her legs and start making my cock hard. It doesn't take long. Dry as she is, it won't just go in though. My tip enters unhindered, but there's some pinching and friction when I try to move and penetrate her fully. That won't stop me, however. I ram my cock into her by force, pumping in and out of her to spread her natural wetness around. It doesn't take long before her cunt lubricates itself under my thrusts, to my surprise, and I start fucking her and get into a rhythm.

"Help," she lets out, quietly. For what? There's no one here who could hear her, no one who could help.

I answer her plea with a punch in her face; then another one. I curse her out as I pound into her. Slap her, and it makes my cock feel very good. Jess puts her arms over her face in defense. Hide all you want, I don't care and fuck into her harder. My cock made her pussy nice and wet, and the sound of naked flesh slapping against naked flesh fills the living room.

But looking down at her like this is giving me an idea. Covering her face has left her neck fully exposed, and so I put both of my hands around her throat and squeeze, holding onto her while my cock slides in and out. It's really good. Makes me feel so powerful and in control, how vulnerable she is in this position, fragile, pinned down. I only heard about choking from people who griped about violent pornography and how all the young people were doing it nowadays. I never knew what I was actually missing out on. I wish I knew before. Then again, Jess would have never let me do that to her willingly. And this, this is all the more fun.

It doesn't take long before Jess grabs my wrists, tries to pull me away, unsuccessfully of course, then beats against my forearms, but it's all too little, barely worthy of note, not nearly enough to get me off her. I'm not a strong man by any means, but this much? It's laughable. By now, the panic has returned some of her capacities. She seems more alert again, the way she stares at me with wide-opened eyes, firmly gripping my arms. She twists, attempting to get away from under me.

I put my weight into it to keep her down and choke her harder. Her cunt twitches around my cock. I can feel it and that, too, feels good. Real good.

Her head slowly falls to the side, her grip on my arms loosens, and her movements gradually fade out. I slap her and she comes to her senses again, gasps for air and groans. All the while, I keep fucking her.

It's been months since we had sex, and I don't remember the last time I enjoyed it. Now I do though. I definitely do enjoy this. It's great to finally let loose and lay into her, fuck her like a piece of meat. Like she deserves. Feels fantastic. My cock feels fantastic too. It's throbbing inside her, so swollen and plump, pumped so full of blood, it might just burst. The hardest erection I've ever had. I can feel it pulsing and dripping.

And I can feel my orgasm approaching. I let go of her neck and punch her in the face, twice, then begin to moan and shoot my cum deep into her cunt. Keep pounding, frantically, harder and harder. The orgasm rolls over me in waves and gives me goosebumps. It seems almost endless, that moment. I've never cum this hard before. Fuck.

And then I laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. And in that moment, I finally felt happy. I finally felt bliss. Yes, this was good. Real good. Real fucking good. It felt so right.

She always pushed me around. Always made me feel small. Made me walk on egg shells around her. Always nagging, taking out her mood on me. And I let her. Let her walk all over me. And why? For our sake. Because I told myself she didn't mean it, that she had a rough day and just needed to let off some steam; told myself that it doesn't hurt me, even when I knew damn well it did. Didn't want to rock the boat. That's what it means to be married. You put up with each other, in good times as in bad times, you stick together, no matter what. And because I told myself that I loved her. But the truth is, I was weak. I was a wimp. Lived under her thumb like a fucking pussy.